


Plans

by KandiCryptid



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Depressed Morality | Patton Sanders, Experimental Style, Gen, Hanging mention, Hurt No Comfort, I don't know what to tag this as, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Overdose, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Vomit Mention, jumping off a building mention, self harm mention, slight body horror, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KandiCryptid/pseuds/KandiCryptid
Summary: Planning can be the worst part. It's the stage where you know you're going to do it, you just know it, you just need to get the courage. For Patton, he's planned for longer than he can remember. And now, with everything falling apart, he decides he's tired of waiting.He's going to go through with his plan, and the imagination is the perfect place to do that.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Eyy I have no idea how I wrote this in like forty minutes but I did so yeah. I mean, I don't regret it? It started as a vent/distraction but I actually really like how it turned out.
> 
> Also, please heed the tags. This gets very dark (I was kinda spiraling when I wrote most of it), and I don't want any of ya'll to get hurt!

The imagination, even Roman’s side, could be a cruel place. Patton knew this well. He knew it from his countless, sudden excursions. Trips that were never planned, never anticipated. Trips that, usually, he didn’t expect to come back from.

Like now.

He didn’t plan on coming back this time.

He had said that before, of course, but it felt different this time. It felt more serious. It felt more _real._

Slinking away from the Mind Palace, there were only a few thoughts going through his head. They ricocheted there like stray bullets, hurting him in every way they could. Each step he took made him more and more sure that he was doing the right thing.

♥

Right thing.

The right thing was important, right? Doing the right thing made you good, and being good was good.

Was Patton good?

He used to think so, but now he knew the truth.

♥

Every few feet, Patton would look behind him. The Palace slowly shrunk into a dot in the distance. He had no idea where he was, or even how far away he was by now. The imagination was funny like that. Distance was fluid, time was sand and the laws of physics were as rigid as wind.

He looked ahead. Surrounding the Palace was a stretch of grassland. He could tell he was reaching the border, though—the outline of tress stood out against the dusky sunset. He didn’t know everything about the imagination’s geography, but he did know that many things lied beyond that forest.

Towns.

Cities.

Villages.

Elves, humans, faeries, horses, and everything in between.

He wondered if things decayed there. He had seen mushrooms many times, so he supposed so. Then again, science didn’t apply here, did it?

♥

Patton wondered what his body would look like by tomorrow. By next week. By next month, even. He imagined mushrooms, young and squishy, crawling up his limbs until he was nothing more than a skeleton. He thought about the grass that would sprout in his rib cage, about the vines that would pry his joints apart one by one. Would animals eat him? Maybe. Some wolves, some cats—they’d find him, eventually.

But what if they didn’t?

What if another side found him?

He didn’t want to dwell on that.

♥

The forest was close now. His feet had begun to ache, but he tried his best to ignore it. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t too difficult. He had other things to think about.

As he walked past the first trees, he grinned despite himself. The forests, even Remus’s, were beautiful. The setting sun cast down rays of golden light that filtered through dense oaks. Dappled leaves fluttered under his feet. The trickle of a stream, quiet and bubbly, came from somewhere to his right. It was a shame he couldn’t enjoy it more, but he knew he couldn’t. No, he had to hurry before he could talk himself out of it again.

Not entirely sure where to go, he picked a somewhat clear path through a cluster of elms. Weeds and wildflowers seemed to follow his every move, their heads drooping as he walked past. Were they sad? He hoped not. If they were, he was sorry, but he wasn’t changing his plans. He had done this far too many times now. This had to be it.

After a while—five minutes? Ten? Thirty?—he stopped. His body still, he looked at the tiny house in front of him.

Roman had always loved the cottagecore aesthetic. It was fantastical, full of whimsy and charm. Fit for a perfect fairy tail.

He had no real reason to stop here. He had to solid plan, just a goal. Hell, he didn’t even know if anyone lived there. But something, something deep in his heart, told him to stop. This was it.

Patton sure wasn’t a fairy tail, but the house would work for him just as well.

♥

How many ways were there to die?

Remus could think of thousands and _still_ find more.

Patton was less creative. All he could think about was the common ones: he could hang, overdose, jump, cut.

It was a small, desperate list, but an effective one.

So, how was he going to do it?

♥

The house was gorgeous. Although it was small, there was personality packed in every available inch. It even had a clear colour palette. A mix of lavender, mint and blueberry dominated the cottage, and Patton had to say that he liked it. It was nice. Soft. He got the impression that this was a creation the Roman worked particularly hard on. He worked hard on everything, of course, but there were a few things that he completely threw his soul into.

Was this one of them? If it was, Patton was thoroughly impressed

Looking around, the kitchen was compact, more of a dorm kitchenette than anything. It emitted the homely scent of baked bread, and he gulped it in like his life depended on it.

The rest was nice, too. The living room invited him in with its pastel couch and brownstone mantel, and the loft hanging delicately above it begged him to climb up and rest.

 _Rest for just a second, think this through,_ it told him. _Just lie down for a bit. You must be tired after that long walk._

Patton nodded to the nonexistent voice.

He was tired.

He was so, so tired.

♥

His bones themselves ached with a feeling not even the embodiment of emotion could identify. It wasn’t quite sadness, not yet anger, not just fear. It was something else, something else that made him want to vomit and vomit until he had nothing left in him.

Could a person vomit so much they died? Remus or Logan would probably know. Not that he could ask them, but it was a thought.

Maybe he could try it.

Maybe he could eat a poisonous plant or a Tidepod. That’d make him throw up, all right. Maybe he could do it over and over until there was nothing to expel, until he was just a sack of flesh and bone with nothing to keep him alive.

But the thought, as appetizing as it sounded, didn’t sit well. It sounded exhausting. And, if his goal was to be free, he saw no point in doing something that need so much effort.

No, he’d find a different way.

♥

The bed was soft. He didn’t get under the covers, but he did lie on top of them, and just that was enough. He let his eyes close for a second. Thw twittering of birds outside filled his ears, even though it had to be nearly nightfall by now.

Nightfall.

Were the others looking for him?

He usually didn’t stay out this late. He had left after dinner, and on a normal day he’d be cuddled up on the sofa with the rest of them. But he wasn’t there tonight. They were probably wondering where he was, why he wasn’t with them. Were they looking for him? Remus and Roman could find him easily, with how well they knew their realm.

He suppressed a tired groan. He couldn’t rest now; he had to do this before they found him.

Patton stood.

♥

He could hang. There was a few lengths of poppy-red ribbon, glossy and smooth, spilling out of the boudoir beside the bed. That could work. He could tie the knot—make a curve, bring it up, loop it thrice, pull—and slip it on easily. Then he’d wait as his head exploded in pain, as he breathing got cut out, as the pressure behind his eyes made it feel like they were going to pop out any second. It would be painful, but isn’t that what he deserved at this point? At least he could repent before death.

He could overdose. He could conjure some painkillers, take them all at once, then sleep. That sounded nice. Lazy, but nice.

He could jump. There was a window in the loft, round and small, yet still big enough to fit through. He could stand at the edge, the breeze ruffling his hair, as he looked out across the night sky. He bet the forest looked lovely at night. Then he’d step off. His stomach would flip and he’d likely scream, but it wouldn’t last long.

He could cut. That one sounded the most reassuring, even if painful. His hips were already littered with reminders; what’s the harm of a few more on his arms. Just one time would do it. Just one time, straight down, through that first layer, through the next. The top layer was barely the thickness of a piece of paper—it was relatively easy, especially when he was worked up. He wouldn’t even have to go very deep to get a result, would he?

There were so many ways to die. How was he supposed to choose?

♥

With a sigh, Patton flopped back down on the bed. He let his cardigan fall off his shoulders. Throwing it to the ground, he plucked his glasses from his face and put them on the bedside table.

In his left hand, a glass of water appeared with the twist of his wrist. In his right, a small bottle. He stared at it for a long minute. That bottle, barely a few inches tall, had an unbelievable amount of power over him. He held his entire life in his right palm. He shook it, hearing the medication inside, then opened it. He poured a couple out, flinging them in his mouth. He swallowed with water.

It was easier than he thought it would be.

He had, on some level, expected his body to disobey him. But it didn’t. No, he still had control over himself. Even as he swallowed again, he found himself not even shaking. The thought occurred to him that he could stop now. He could stop and go home, ask for help. Or, even if he didn’t ask for help, he could just ask for someone to stay with him. But no. He had planned this for far too long to quit now. He swallowed again.

♥

Pills is a funny word. P-i-l-l-s.

Pillbug.

Pillow.

Pillory.

Pushpill.

Wait, no. Not pushpi—

Pushpin.

Pin.

Quill.

But no pill.

Qui—

Like a hedgehog.

They have quills, not pills.

Windows have—no, they have sills.

S-i-l-l-s.

Words can be very hard when you’re fading, but Patton tried his best to make a pun.

♥

The bottle empty, he finally tucked himself under the covers. They were a nice green, almost like grass. Hey, green and grass started with the same letter! That was a little funny. Hah.

They were warm, too. Warm and heavy and comforting.

Warm, heavy and comforting things made him want to sleep. Especially when he’d just walked God knows how far to get here.

He had finally done it.

Did it.

He did it.

But as he was just starting to shut his eyes, he heard a voice, and the door flew open underneath the loft.

Not that it mattered.

Patton was already falling asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh... to anyone reading this who may need to hear this: you're going to be okay. Maybe not now, and maybe not even soon. But you'll be okay. I don't even have to meet you to know that you're worth it, and that no matter what your past is like, I love and accept you. You're valid, you're awesome, and you're worthy of happiness. So just hold on for a bit. For me? As someone who struggles with this, I know this is very hypocritical of me, but I want you to live. I know my opinion doesn't matter much, but I would be very sad if anything happened to you. I believe in you :)


End file.
